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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884284">i came back to you broken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne'>Champagne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, M/M, Mostly hurt, immediately post 160, love is an anchor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And I've been away too long<br/>I hear the words I've spoken<br/>And everything comes out wrong<br/>I just can't get this together<br/>Can't get where I belong<br/>Who do you love?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i came back to you broken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title and summary from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_CbClV_eTU">Who Do You Love? by Marianas Trench</a> which I listened to on repeat while writing this</p><p>it's been a bit jossed but that cannot and will not stop me from posting it</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jon-</p><p>No, that’s not right. He isn’t Jon anymore, he can feel it.</p><p>The fear siphons into him like he’s a storm drain and he sorts, labels, catalogues, records and archives it all in the time it takes him to blink.</p><p>Archives. Yes, that sounds better.</p><p>But there’s a soft voice whispering that other name into his ear, so for now he settles into being Jon. </p><p>He looks up at the familiar face, haggard and pale and watching him so closely, and blinks. He knows it’s Martin, Knows it, of course, but it’s different now. He can See what Martin fears like a tattoo across his skin, and Knows that the vice grip of the Lonely is partially his fault. The past few days come to him in snapshots-</p><p>Scotland. Highland cows and small villages. Far off houses and even farther neighbors. The days of careful steps like the floor was covered in broken glass. The shared glances. The new comfort.</p><p>The box from Basira. The statement. The ritual. The dread, bubbling, choking him, the guilt even worse. His tired, heartbroken surrender to the power that controls him-</p><p>That last picture is different. That brief memory has sound to it, a raspy, panicked voice, pleading, “Jon, no, <i>please</i>-”</p><p>Then nothing, for what he Knows to be a few days. He also Knows that, despite everything, Martin stayed beside him even as the world outside descended into chaos.</p><p>He sees a tentative hope in Martin’s eyes now that hurts, a knife shoved between his ribs, the archive’s bookshelves, and he looks away before he can be swallowed by it. Cultivating that hope will only lead to worse heartbreak, he Knows that. He Knows a lot, now.</p><p>But Martin sounds so relieved when he breathes the name <i>Jon</i> like a prayer, and he is being pulled to Martin’s chest and held there. Martin is solid and warm, and faded memories of waking up next to him in a too-small bed renders his head blissfully silent for just a moment.</p><p>It’s enough that, for that moment, he is well and truly Jon again, and he says Martin’s name into his shoulder.</p><p>Martin sobs into Jon’s hair, and the fog of the Lonely dissipates into a light, clinging mist. Less, but not gone. Jon suspects it might never fully disappear.</p><p>And that, for some reason that slips through his fingers like water, irritates him. He takes a moment to label that feeling as Possessive, and wonders idly if it’s Jonathan Sims or the Eye that feels that way toward Martin.</p><p>Martin is talking, but the words pass through Jon as if never spoken. He nuzzles into Martin’s arms and wishes he could stay there forever, and in the next moment Martin is pulling back, holding him at arm’s length. Looking at him. The hope is still there in his eyes, but it’s fading quickly, and that twists the knife still between the bookshelves.</p><p>He tries to focus. He hears Martin say his name again, and he wraps the sound around himself and lets it <i>pull</i>.</p><p>Years flood back to him just as quickly as the world’s fear does, but these years block the flow like a well built dam, or a clog in a storm drain. They take the place of the fears so easily, smothering the panic and dread with clarifying memories of smiles, cups of tea, lunches, a dog-</p><p>He sees more faces, not just Martin’s. It takes him longer to put names to them, but each name warms him like a falling star; Daisy, Basira, Tim, Georgie, even Melanie.</p><p>He sees Elias, sees Jonah, sees himself reading. He Sees the world end by his doing.<br/>
The guilt slams into his chest like a sledgehammer and it’s suddenly very hard to breathe. He’s pulling away from Martin at the same time Martin is trying to hold him again, and it feels-</p><p>It feels wrong to want that comfort. He knows, he <i>Knows</i>, that it’s his fault in one way or another, that he isn’t without blame. He Knows that, in no small measure, his existence is now also his punishment.</p><p>He Knows that Martin is afraid of him now, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, but he doesn’t fault Martin for that even as the thought rips at his heart, because anyone in their right mind is afraid of a monster. He Knows that the tearing, burning, shredding he feels, the raw isolation, is his burden, his punishment, and his offering to the gods.</p><p>Martin is talking again, still trying to pull Jon to him, but he isn’t rough. His hands are firm but gentle around Jon’s wrists, his thumbs rubbing circles into his skin, and-</p><p>Gentle. Even now. It’s far more than he’ll ever deserve.</p><p>His eyes begin to sting and he hesitates, and Martin seizes the opportunity to pull Jon to his chest again. He’s crying, now into the soft fabric of Martin’s jumper, in the warmth of Martin’s arms, and he knows he’s talking but even his own words don’t register in his brain. Martin rubs circles into his back and the contact makes Jon’s skin crawl, but it’s his own disgust that makes him want Martin to stop touching him, wants him to get as far away as possible, to save himself.</p><p>Martin is quietly responding to him, but he’s sure they’re not having anything resembling a conversation.</p><p>He talks until his throat starts to hurt and the words finally start taking root, and he hears his own raspy, hoarse, broken voice saying, “I’m sorry.” over and over and over into Martin’s shoulder. It takes only a few more moments before he hears, in between each apology, Martin saying, “I love you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i>two fics in two days?</i> nah it's a lie i have a store of finished fics that i need to edit before posting and im a chronic Procrastinator</p><p>also im bad at tagging things and i Apologize</p></blockquote></div></div>
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